


rest your bones

by aquivera



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domesticity meme, Drabbles, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquivera/pseuds/aquivera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for the Domesticity Meme. Updated (part ii): Food, nicknames, and a lot of profanity (not that Jake understands any of it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the meme if anyone of you are up for a challenge: http://midduki.tumblr.com/post/83174759739
> 
> If you do it I'd love to see your take on it ~

_Big Spoon/Little Spoon:_

* * *

Due to daddy issues and a constantly working mother, Jake has a bad habit of rolling into the fetal position in his sleep. He always starts out on his back, arms over his head, and then wakes up to find his knees tucked neatly under his chin.

Accommodating Amy into his already too small bed isn't hard at first, because they usually pass out on top of each other after the 'sex timez'; as Jake has taken to calling them. But after the lust starts to smooth out into something sweeter, more gentle and careful than anything he's ever experienced, everything else gets awkward.

See, Jake's used to having his own space, and it also doesn't help that he's a total blanket hog. Five nights of little-to-no cuddling and freezing her ass off without the sheets, Amy Santiago has finally had enough.

She grabs what little end of the blanket is left and tugs with all her might, freeing Jake from the cocoon of blankets he was safely nestled in.

"Amy," he grumbles, catching the sheet before she can snatch it all away from him. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing our dilemma," Amy snaps, irritated from the lack of sleep she's accumulated in the last few days. She tucks a portion of the sheet under her legs before tossing the rest of it to Jake, which he immediately holds onto.

"Sorry," he murmurs behind a yawn, already ducking his head to assume the fetal position again.

"Oh  _no_ you're not," Amy growls, pouncing on him from behind so her arm is around his chest and her leg is haphazardly wrapped around his waist. Jake stiffens from the sudden contact.

"Amy, what do you think you're doing?" he ask quietly, uncomfortable with the feeling of being held down by someone.

"Shut up and sleep, Peralta," she barks, burying her face into the base of his neck. Her breath leaves his hairs standing on end and her arm is too tight around him, but Jake does his best to settle into her grip.

"By latching onto me like a koala?" he jokes, trying to absorb the obvious tension in the room. "

Yes," Amy relents, her arm relaxing around him. "I'm used to latching onto other people like this. I have  _seven_ older brothers, Jake- "

"A fact you never let me forget," he puts in, ready for the slap on the arm before it comes.

"I'm used to being the clingy one. That's what little sisters do."

"So you're saying you want to be my sister now?" he snickers.

"No," Amy slaps his arm again. "I'm saying I'm going to throw myself on top of you like this and you're going to deal with it."

"Bossy," Jake notes, but settles back into her chest nonetheless. Amy hesitates, but then kisses his shoulder in thanks for his cooperation before pressing her entire body against his back. Jake's oddly comforted by the gesture and the feeling of her surrounding him.

"Go to sleep," Amy mutters, hitting his arm one last time before settling against his back.

It won't really occur to Jake until a couple mornings later that he's the little spoon in the relationship. By then he doesn't even have the dignity to be ashamed about it.

* * *

_Favorite non-sexual activity:_

* * *

 He likes catching bad guys with her.

Amy's faster than he is when it comes to chasing perps down the endless streets of Brooklyn. She's surprisingly steady on her practical chunky heels, easily maneuvering around corners and ducking under the projectiles of the previously mentioned perps. Jake usually follows behind, watching her carefully constructed bun come loose as it bobs up and down in the wind. Her blazer fans out behind her and if she's runs fast enough Jake's sure it will slip off her shoulders.

She always,  _always_ catches the perp when there's a chase on foot. He's never seen anyone get away when  _she's_ the cop sent after them. Amy grabs this particular runner by the collar and easily bring him to his knees, an action so undeniably dominant that Jake can feel it in his groin. She snarls out their rights between heavy breaths and wastes no time cuffing the guy.

When it sinks in that their chase is over, she finally turns on her heel to look at him, eyes wild and her heart still pumping adrenaline.

"N-Nice job, Detective," Jake gasps, resting his hands on his knees. His winded, that's for sure, but he can't stop the grin growing on his face.

Amy stares back at him, still breathing heavily but her eyes watching him like he was another one of her prey. Jake shivers, but holds her gaze.

Suddenly, she shoves the perp up against the wall, away from her, so she can grab Jake by the collar and close the distance between them.

Amy kisses him with a desperation that he's not used experiencing from her. Her mouth moves fast over his and she opens his lips with her tongue. Jake grabs the back of her head for leverage, pulling her body closer to deepen the kiss.

The perp against the wall coughs conspicuously .

Amy pulls away quickly, leaving both of them even more breathless than before. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is almost out of its bun and plastered to her neck, and Jake's sure he doesn't look any more appropriate.

"That's sick," the perp grumbles into the wall, eyeing Jake with disgust. Jake snorts, taking the guy from Amy and leading him to the car.

" _You're_ the sick one," Jake reminds him. "You're being arrested for selling human  _ears_ , for God's sake."

Amy laughs behind him, a sound that sends his blood south. When Jake swivels back to see her face, the look she gives him is a  _far_ cry from appropriate.

Working with her isn't as great as literally having sex, but it's admittedly damn close.

_Voted 'most appropriate' in high school, my ass,_ Jake thinks.

* * *

  _Who uses all the hot water:_

* * *

 He uses up all the hot water.

Not that he could even dream of affording the luxurious water bill he has on his own. In fact, the weight of this burden doesn't get any lighter when Amy starts paying the bills with him.

She fails to understand why a grown man would waste hours in a bathtub the same way she fails to understand why Jake has twelve massage chairs.

When she finally bothers to question them, tired of watching their hard-earned paychecks sucked dry by his reckless spending, Jake has the nerve to appear offended.

"I'm not a savage," he states, hand on his bare chest as if she wounded him. Jake sinks deeper into the tub until the hot water comes to his neck, then beckons to the object in her hands.

"You're not really in a position to treat yourself like royalty, though," Amy counters, rolling her eyes as she hands him the bath bomb. She still can't imagine Jake just _walking_ into a local  _Lush_ store and buying the ridiculous amount of bath salts that he has accumulate din his bathroom. She has a sinking feeling (no pun intended) that he's getting them from Gina.

Regardless or the source, Jake's in love with bubble baths.

"You could join me, you know," Jake says as he drops the little ball of soap into the water.

Amy has to admit that the child in her is fascinated by the way it fizzes and pops, spreading neon streaks of color into the water. First pink, until that layer dissolves into purple, and then pink streaks again. They're quiet as Amy contemplates his offer, both staring intently at the bath bomb dissolving in the water.

"Which bath salt is your favorite?" she asks instead, shifting her weight to her knees. Her butt and thighs were starting to freeze from sitting on the tiled floor for so long. Amy rests her elbows on the edge of the bathtub, propping her chin up on the palms of her hand. She peers at the stack of bath bombs sitting in a pile to her left, and notices Jake visibly perk up in her periphery.

"Dragon's Egg," he grins proudly, pointing with a wet hand to the lavender spotted spheres in the stack. There's a lot, but not as much as the yellow colored spheres.

"You just like the name," Amy snorts, reaching for one of the yellow soaps. She squints to see if she can find a name carved on it. "These are actually your favorites, aren't they?" she confirms.

He chuckles, putting both pink tinted arms in the air, "Guilty. Those are the Fizzbangers."

Amy nods in understanding, "I can see why you don't want to fess up to that. 'Fizzbangers'?" Her nose wrinkles, "God, that's tacky." Jake makes a noise of agreement as he sinks deeper into the water, disappearing until only his eyes are visible. She watches curiously as he sneaks up to her like a shark. They stare at each other when he comes as close as he can in the water, and Amy idly wonders how long Jake can hold his breath for.

Suddenly, he splashes her in the face.

"J-Jake!" she sputters, trying to get the soap taste out of her mouth. "You idiot!" Amy pushes her sleeves back and grabs him by the top the head, using all her strength to dunk him. Jake chokes on a mouthful of soapy water, barely managing to surface before Amy's splashing him.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry!" Jake pleads, making a blind grab for her wrists and somehow capturing both of them. He finally opens his eyes to see the front of her shirt completely soaked, thin enough that he can make out the black lace of her bra. She follows his gaze to her chest, smirking when she catches his slack jawed expression. Jake has the decency to shut his mouth and swallow the saliva that has collected at the bottom before he speaks.

"Are you  _sure_ you don't want to join me?" he questions again, trying to waggle his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

She laughs, "Well, looks like I could use a bath now anyway." Jake grins, sitting up so he can reach the for her T-shirt and tug it over her head. Amy complies, raising her arms in the air to aid him.

"Next," Jake eyes her bra, wet hands skating behind her back and quickly undoing the clasp. He pulls her close as the bra falls to the floor, and he kisses her slowly. Amy groans into his mouth with the contact of their chests, inwardly annoyed by the porcelain that's separating their lower bodies.

She stands, tugging off her shorts and underwear, then stepping out of them and into the water. Jake moves his legs to either side of the tub so she can sit between them. Amy let's out this noise when the warm water envelops her, a sound Jake usually gets out of her when he's kissing her inner thighs. He leans forward to rest his head on her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her waist, tugging her closer.

"This is nice," Amy finally admits, relaxing against him. She feels his laughter vibrate through his chest behind her.

"Bit more than nice, yeah," he agrees, mapping out kisses down the side of her neck.

"Y-You never told me what the name of this one was," Amy stutters, her breath catching when he finds a sensitive spot behind her ear. He stops his ministrations, pulling his mouth away from her neck. She turns a bit to see catch his expression, Jake's very obviously trying to come up with the answer. Amy's about to tell him she really doesn't care when he abruptly startles her with a loud laugh.

"Sex Bomb!" he yells victoriously.

"Sex Bomb?!" she repeats, alarmed by Jake's outburst.

"That's the name of this thing," he explains, pointing wildly to the pink water. Amy takes in a deep breath, recognizing the scent of jasmine and musk.

"It's working pretty well," she notes, purposely admiring the upper part of his chest that wasn't submerged in pink water.

"Admit it," Jake teases, running his hands up and down her sides. "This is worth the price."

She scoffs, "Never."

Contrary to her statement, Amy turns back around and settles against his chest, eventually dozing off to sound of his even breaths and seeing bright pinks and purples behind her eyelids.

'Honey Lumps' end up becoming their favorite bath bomb, and Amy swears Gina somewhere is cackling in her lair over the fact she's converted another one of her co-workers to the dark side of luxury.

* * *

  _Most trivial thing they fight over_ (or rather: 'Amy immediately responds to Jake's confession'!AU):

* * *

"Don't go."

She grabs him by the back of his leather jacket, and Jake freezes, feeling her petite hand against the small of his back.

There's a long moment of silence, and all he can hear is Amy's shaky breathing behind him. He doesn't want to turn around; he doesn't think he can face her again. Jake has poured his heart out and he wants to walk away and let her do what she wants with his confession, let her deal with the consequences of his actions.

Still, when she asks him to stay, her voice fragile in a way he's never heard from her before, Jake just has to stop in his tracks. However, he doesn't have the courage to repeat his confession or the stomach to handle rejection. So he turns on his heels and says that first thing that comes to mind:

"Oh c _ome on_ , Amy, you never let me do anything cool!"

It sounds whiny and ungrateful, even more so when he catches the fleeting expression on her face. Amy's big doe eyes narrow into slits; her lips, previously quivering with apprehension, fold up into a scowl. Jake's probably plunged any sentimental feelings she was holding for into the metaphorical toilet, but a small part of him is selfishly glad he still has time to look at her.

"You already said that to Holt," she reminds him. Her voice regains it's usual aggression as she continues, "That line is not going to work with me." Amy's hands go up to her hips, jutting her chin out with furrowed eyebrows; it's the stance she uses to win arguments with. Jake swallows, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his neck. "You're  _seriously_ considering this undercover mission.  _Seriously_?" she asks him, incredulous. "Have you even thought this through?"

Now it's his turn to scowl, "Of course I have! It's only six months, that's practically nothing." Jake watches as she tries to retaliate with a response, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "I just don't understand why you're making a big deal of such a trivial thing."

"You're life is not trivial!" she shouts exasperatedly, banging her fists into her sides in frustration. Jake feels all the air leave his lungs. They fall into a tense silence again, staring at each other. Amy's gaze is unwavering, her lips screwed up into a miserable frown, and Jake swears he can see tears forming on her lower lash line. Guilt builds up in his gut, and finally he sighs, body relaxing as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Why do you care so much?" Jake wonders, eyes shut to block out the image of her distraught face. He never has the energy to fight with her when she's upset.

"Because you matter," she mumbles, and when he opens his eyes he finds hers glued to the ground.

"To whom?" Jake prompts, stepping into her space so she's left to stare at his sneakers. Amy takes two steps back, and he pretends like the action doesn't leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Amy bites her lip and he holds his breath, both of them understanding that this was a fight or flight moment. Slowly, she raises her gaze his.

"F-Fine," Amy stutters, and he sees her resolve before she even states it. "Just go. Go and come back safely," she tells him, and Jake nods numbly, feeling his heart shatter.

_Flight,_ he thinks. She chose flight.

He's about to walk away again, for good this time, when Amy seizes him by the collar of his leather jacket. She pulls him down to her level, planting a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth. Jake's eyes are open wide the whole time, and after she still keeps her face close to his. When speaks, her lips brush against his lightly.

"D-Don't," she shudders, hands releasing his collar. Amy takes two steps back again, this time to get her bearings. She takes a deep breath, then looks him in the eye. He's struck by the intensity in her gaze. "Don't die," Amy whispers, her charge almost carried away with the wind.

He gives her a genuine smile, one that threatens to break his face, "I won't."

* * *

_Who does most of the cleaning:_

* * *

"Wow, this place is starting to look like a very nice, lived in, lesbian apartment," Gina notes as she crosses the threshold into the Santiago-Peralta home. Jake laughs as Amy's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"What does that even mean?" she murmurs to Jake.

"No clue," he replies, still chuckling.

"So I'm guessing Amy is the one who makes sure that the floors are actually visible?" Gina quips, tossing her purse onto their clean coffee table. She drops herself unceremoniously onto the couch, propping her feet up on to the previously mentioned clean table.

"Jake's useless," Amy agrees, heading into the kitchen to make coffee. She tries not to let the sight of Gina's dirty ballet flats on her  _clean_ table bother the hell out of her.

"I resent that statement," Jake pouts, crossing his arms. He plops down next to Gina, purposely propping his feet up next to hers to piss Amy off. Amy glares at him from the kitchen but doesn't say anything, knowing better than to argue with him when Gina's around to back him up. Jake grins back at her, glad to be protected by the sheer presence of his childhood friend. "I do the laundry," he states proudly.

"Did he turn any of the whites pink yet?" Gina directs the question to Amy, who snickers.

"Blue," she corrects, smirking. "And he always puts too much softener. Our clothes are starting to get greasy and towels aren't absorbing much anymore."

"I just wanted them to be extra soft!" Jake interjects.

"Just so you know, putting extra softener doesn't actually make them softer," Amy clarifies, watching realization dawn on his face. He looks ready to throw a fit, but Gina cuts him off.

"Mmm, yeah. Sorry, Pineapples," she coos as she pats his head condescendingly. "I'm with Amy on this one, and I still haven't forgiven you for turning my limited edition *NSYNC shirt light pink." Jake has the decency to look ashamed for his past actions. "Plus you're locker still looks a garbage dump in the Philippines and your bachelor pad before Amy  _was_ a cross between TLC's  _Hoarders_ and Alpine's community dump after one of Dirty Money's house parties," Gina adds.

"What?" Amy mouths to Jake behind her.

"No clue," Jake mouths back with a shrug, as an oblivious Gina continues to detail her dumpster diving experience in P. Diddy's trash.

* * *

_Who has a season pass on their DVR/who controls the Netflix que:_

* * *

Jake and Amy have watched every cop movie available on Netflix. They still argue about the order of the "Best Cop Movies of All Time" list.

Amy will never admit it but the action in  _Die Hard_ is heart racing, even if the situations are laughably unrealistic for an actually cop. Plus she's got a soft spot for Alan Rickman, and Bruce Willis isn't half bad in this movie either.

Jake would sooner die that say it, but  _Training Day_ has suckered him in with it's emotionally rich plot and relatable characters ( _seriously_ though, he will _never_ admit to anyone that he understands Jake Hoyt more than John McClane). Denzel Washington also isn't a bad guy to be ogling at for a hundred and twenty-two minutes anyway. Just don't tell Amy that, because Washington was her first rabbi and Jake has no right to be checking out 'her man.'

Other than their love for cop movies, Jake and Amy take turns picking out TV shows to barrel through during their free time. Amy prefers crime dramas and Jake likes sitcoms and anything from TLC (the network is practically a religion Gina's converted him to), but they always go back to any variation of the  _Law & Order. _It's a guilty pleasure for them both, though they both agree that the  _Trial by Jury_ series is the absolute worst thing ever conceived by Dick Wolf.

Amy makes it a point not to mention just how many episodes of  _Long Island Medium_ Jake has gone through on their shared Hulu account (Gina and Jake spend roughly an hour a week at work just talking about that dumb show over lunch), and Jake never bothers confronting her on how many times she's watched that stupid documentary that Holt likes.

They find a middle ground when it comes to their TV preferences, choosing not to judge each other for their choices and put up with the shows they disagree on. It's strangely mature for Jake not to crack jokes when she watches rom coms on Netflix or for Amy to not laugh as he tears up during  _another_ episode of  _A Baby Story_.

Actually, sometimes she does laugh when she catches him crying in front of the television, but then Jake simply pulls up her internet history.

"Seriously," he demands, pointing wildly to the screen, "Who  _cares_ this much about the creation of contacts?"

* * *

_Who calls up the landlord when the heat's not working:_

* * *

Amy, being the ever prepared person that she is, has at least five spare blankets and three space heaters stored in the apartment. They're extremely useful for when she's watching Jake argue over the phone with the landlord over the heating bill.

"What?!" he shouts into the receiver, pacing around angrily in his academy sweatshirt, boxers, and fuzzy socks. "Of course we paid the bill! Check it again! I definitely mailed it back to you!"

Amy sighs and shuffles over to the kitchen counter with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, feet warm in blue bunny slippers, a gift from her mom. She leafs through their mail and sighs when she finds the bill.

"Jake," Amy huffs, holding up the envelope and the check. Jake looks absolutely embarrassed as he quietly tells the landlord that he's coming downstairs with the money and  _please turn up the heat now sir, we're just two cops trying to enjoy our day off._

He sheepishly makes his way out of the apartment (fully-clothed), and Amy cranks up the intensity on the space heater and quietly reminds herself that this  _really is_ the idiot she has chosen to fall in love with.

* * *

_Who steals the blankets:_

* * *

It's Jake at first, but then he realizes that a pregnant Amy Santiago-Peralta is quite the force to be reckoned with.

"The baby's cold too," she snarls while yanking the comforter away from him.

Thus begins the best and worst year of his life: nine months of freezing his ass off at night, and then three months of never sleeping.

* * *

_Who leaves their stuff around:_

* * *

The usual answer: he does.

From books to clothes to week old food, if it wasn't for Amy, Jake would probably be living in eternal filth. He doesn't feel the need to be tidy, his space is an organized mess, and like Gina he's  _almost_ wired to thrive on dysfunction. Almost.

But when Amy quietly (or rather  _loudly,_ when she's in a bad mood and  _literally_ doesn't want to deal with his shit) cleans up his mess, Jake feels his entire body just  _relax_ when he can actually see the floor of his apartment or the full extent of his keyboard of the computer at the precinct.

There's only one notable instance when Amy was caught leaving her stuff around.

Jake's mother, Rebekah Peralta (she thought she was really clever naming her son Jacob), decides to visit their apartment, unannounced, of course. Neither of them would have minded if it wasn't for the fact that five minutes before Jake's hand was conveniently up Amy's skirt.

Jake answers the door with an unevenly buttoned shirt and Amy disappears into the kitchen to sort herself out. His mother pushes past him and settles herself on the couch, the same couch they were just making out on.

"Really, Jakey, you haven't answered any of my calls-" she starts.

"I'm really sorry about that-" he tries to interrupt, dropping a glass of water on the coffee table for her.

"And I know you're  _busy._ " she eyes his shirt with a bit of revulsion, his mother never really got it into her head that her son has  _grown up._ Frankly, Jake never considered himself a grown man until he got with Amy, so it's a fair assumption on her part.

He undoes and then re-buttons his shirt abashedly, coughing as he tries to think up an appropriate response.

Just then Amy comes in, smelling more like her perfume than herself, shirt perfectly tucked into her skirt, both articles of clothing surprisingly unwrinkled.

His mother likes Amy, or at the very least, she likes Amy more than she's liked any of Jake's previous girlfriends. It's a start.

Amy impresses Rebekah with her usual hospitality and appropriate conversation topics. She smiles sweetly when his mother makes snide comments about the dollies and refills Rebekah's water before being asked to.

Rebekah warms up to Amy eventually, the two women suddenly gossiping like old friends over Jake's strange childhood stories. He's half embarrassed by his mother and half impressed with Amy's social skills, but overall their exchange leaves a warm feeling in his chest.

That is until Rebekah decides to lift up the couch cushion (probably already suspicious about the  _actual_ cleanliness of their apartment) and pulls out something shocking enough to make even a composed Amy Santiago drop the tray of snacks.

Jake can't help it, he just  _has_ to crack a joke.

"Well, mom," he manages between chuckles, "we  _were_ busy... A moment ago anyway."

His mother flicks the offending scrap of lace at his face as Amy smacks him in the back of the head with the snack tray.

* * *

_Who remembers to buy milk:_

* * *

Amy places a fresh wet towel on his forehead and rests her head on his abdomen, and Jake welcomes the pressure on his stomach. He makes a content sound, patting her head to acknowledge his thanks.

Jake's  _so_  sick. He's vomited twice and his stomach is  _still_ jumping rope with the acid inside. He's sweated through three T shirts already yet still feels like he's frozen to the bone. Amy sighs, rubbing his belly for him with a sympathetic smile.

"Don't drink the sour milk next time," she chides, reaching up to flick his nose.

"Buy fresh milk next time," he groans, pushing her face into his stomach for more relieving pressure. Amy laughs into his shirt and Jake almost flicks her back when another wave a nausea hits him.

Jake's out of bed faster than she can ask him if he's okay, and vomiting into the toilet before she can reach out to comfort him.

He's still grateful for her though, especially when she washes his face and wipes the sweat off the back of his neck for him.

* * *

_Who remembers anniversaries:_

* * *

Jake remembers them the week before hand, and Amy has them cataloged in her phone; but when the actual day rolls around, they both forget.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II of the Domesticity Meme! I'm pretty much done with this meme, so unless I happen to stumble on more prompts that I really like, I won't be adding to this. So for now, this fic is 'finished.' Enjoy!
> 
> PS DanicaGentozzi wrote another version of these domesticity prompts, so you all should check that out (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1537334).

_Who cooks normally?_

They both do.

But they're kind of shit at it. Jake only knows the bare minimum. Amy tends to get worked up over how tasty and presentable the food has to be and then everything goes to hell because she obsessed too much and that always leads to disaster. American food and five course meals are out of the question for her, Thanksgiving made that much clear.

However, she still makes a mean  _ropa vieja_  and somehow knows exactly long to fry the yucca that goes with it. Amy attributes her Spanish cooking skills to her mother, Maela, who ultimately forced her to memorize the vast number of dishes years ago.

Jake likes watching her cook those meals, because Amy works with a small smile on her face and this far away look in her eyes. Sometimes she'll offer stories to him, about their crowded dinner table and how Maela didn't always eat because her sons were human garbage disposals and her husband and youngest child had only so many leftovers to eat.

Most of the time, however, Amy will simply hum to herself. It strikes him odd, because Amy always seemed too self-conscious to actually  _hum_ to herself. Jake will never understand this quirk of hers until the day he's squashed between two beefy Santiago brothers at the same table that Amy reminisces about, and sees Maela singing to in the kitchen.

Amy's so satisfied with herself when she cooks, because she realizes that she can do at least this much to hold onto her childhood memories and her culture. It almost makes Jake envious.

Almost.

See, he's got exactly two dishes down from his mother's Jewish heritage: matzo soup and  _Gefilte_ fish.

(Admittedly, he learned how to make the soup from a  _Food Network_ recipe, but it taste just like Rebekah's anyway. The  _Gefilte_ fish, on the other hand, was totally a mother-son experience; he swears. His mother wasn't super orthodox either, so most of the religious dishes were eaten all year around, much to the horror of his grandmother.)

It's a bit sad because when his parents were still together, his dad used to cook Italian food like it was no one's business. Rebekah still has pictures of Jake's 'fat phase' when every meal was some sort of elaborate pasta or hearty meat. Now most Italian dishes leave a bitter taste in his mouth, even if they are, by some miracle, better than his dad's.

In high school Jake was the  _king_ of lasagna-crafting and sub-stacking (he made the perfect chicken parmigiana), but his mother held two full-time jobs by then, so she was never around to tastes his perfect creations. Even when she did get a day off to try them, Jake hated the way she swallowed his food as if she was swallowing her own regrets. Rebekah had tried her best to present Jake's father in a good light after the separation, but eventually Jake forsake every part of his father: the food, culture, and  _Christmas_. The only thing Jake couldn't be rid of was the last name, since it was too expensive to change.

Amy can obviously sense the resentment he holds for his father. Most notably was when Rebekah (with absolute good intentions, Jake knows) attempted to recreate Mr. Peralta's infamous penne alla vodka. Jake swallowed the home cooked meal down with a tight jaw and a glass of water and all Amy and Rebekah could do was divert his attention away from the dish.

(Rebekah spoils him next time with  _teiglach_ from his grandmother as an apology.)

(In the end, Amy doesn't mind the fact that none of their dates will ever be in a fancy Italian restaurant. Plus, though she'll never admit it, Amy can practically  _taste_ the affection in Jake's matzo when she's sick.)

* * *

_How often do they fight?_

Too often.

Usually their fights are so stupid that the tension dissolves within a couple of hours, but sometimes the two of them just get so fed up with each other they explode.

Boyle, their unofficial couple counselor, suggests they go for a couple's massage or engage in some spicy-food-sex to release this aggression and rage.

_No no no, that's weird._

_Boyle, stop talking, you're embarrassing yourself buddy._

He'll then advise that they try a new activity they both can enjoy.

_We already had sex in the evidence lockup, if that's what you mean._

_Jake!_

_Maybe we could try Holt's office ne-_

_Jake!_

Boyle then tries to get to the root of the problem.

_She's too bossy._

_He's so irresponsible._

_Am not!_

_Are too!_

At this point Terry, at another desk nearby, will settle back into his chair and sigh. He'll ask what started this mess in the first place.

_Does it matter?_

_It was probably Amy's fault._

Jake will then rub his arm from the well-placed punch Amy gives him.

_Ow. Okay, fine. It was probably mine._

Rosa will stroll in then, maybe with a little blood on her jacket and a well deserved coffee in in hand, then place herself on the desk front of Jake and Amy and look them in the eyes. They'll shudder under her wild gaze, both of them suddenly remembering exactly what Detective Diaz was capable of.

_You two are going to make up. Right now._

_R-Rosa, it's not that simple-_

_Shut up, Amy._

Rosa will hand them two tickets, destination Montreal, and crosses her arms with a no-nonsense look on her face.

_Get yourselves together in a week._

_Rosa, what the fuck-_

_Peralta!_

At this point Holt will get out of his office and enter the bullpen, finally willing to acknowledge that his precinct's workflow is being severely compromised by his two fraternizing detectives.

_Ah, Captain Holt. Nice of you to join us. Welcome to our NOT-departmentally-mandated counseling session. Would you like to place your input?_

_S-Sir, please ignore him. We can take care of personal matters at home._

_Apparently not, Detective Santiago. Your progress on your current cases have been painstakingly slow since your fallout with Detective Peralta._

_Oh, burn!_

_You're no different, Peralta._

Holt will take note of the tickets in their hands, then catch Rosa's smug look before she masks it up with a scowl. He'll then make a split-second decision.

 _Clearly there is only one solution._ Holt will lean over to peer at the destination on Jake's ticket.  _I'm ordering you to take your vacations. Starting now._

The death glare he'll gives the pair will be all the incentive they need before Jake and Amy run out of the precinct. They'll catch their breaths around the corner, waiting for a cab, and lock eyes with each other.

_We're going to fuck in Montreal. That's literally the solution they gave us._

_Jake, don't say it like that-_

_No literally, we are going to_ _**bone down** _ _in Montreal._

(It takes Jake and Amy a split second to get into a fight. Then an entire team of cops to work out a solution. And now no one in the bull pen is surprised when the couple takes sudden vacations to the prime location for, as Jake so eloquently puts it,  _stress-relieving-make-up-fucking._ )

(The week they come back they make double the arrests together and Rosa has to physically remove herself from the bullpen when she catches the sickeningly tender smile Jake gives Amy.)

* * *

_What do they do when they're away from each other?_

"Call me when you get there," Amy mumbles into her hand, fighting back a yawn and pulling her robe closer to combat the chilly fall morning.

"You already look miserable," Jake answers sarcastically, flicking her nose to get her attention. Amy recoils, giving him a cute, disapproving frown.

"I  _will_ miss you," she promises, pouting when Jake ignores her and simply loads his luggage into the trunk of the Mustang. She wants to be mad, but the way his muscles move under his suit jacket is enough to convince her to forgive him. Despite the depressing even he has to attend, Jake looks absolutely delectable in that black number of his.

"Puh-lease," he teases, ruffling her hair. "You practically  _sang_ when mom called me." He crosses his arms, pretending to be upset with her. "Did you really not like having me around that much?"

"You're useless for cleaning-purpose," she notes, smirking when he grumbles something incoherent in reply. Amy lets him wallow in guilt over the state of their apartment before relieving him of his stress. "Jake," she says, tugging on his jacket to draw him closer, "I miss you already."

He grins then, all boyish and happy, and kisses her enthusiastically. She melts into him, ignoring the fact at least one of her old people neighbors had to be watching from the window. The morning is too crisp and the sky is too beautiful for her to let him go today. Still, he has to cross the bridge before the morning traffic kicks in, so Amy pulls away, a bit reluctantly if she was being honest with herself.

"I'm  _really_ going to fucking miss you," Jake breathes against her cheek.

She chuckles, "Don't go kissing your mother with that mouth."

"It's her fault in the first place," Jake grunts, pulling away to open the driver's door. She watches him slide into the seat and start the car before she replies.

"It's  _no one's_ fault, Jake," she corrects sternly. "People pass away, that's what happens when you get old."

"Yeah. But Aunt Miriam was kind of bitch," Jake answers acidly, buckling his seatbelt.

"Jake, that's her  _sister,_ " Amy stresses, but she knows the meaning is lost to Jake. His relationship with his family, aside from his mother, is strained at best. Amy decides to change her approach, "Your mom needs you, Jake. You're all she has."

"I know," Jake sighs, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. Amy leans in through the window, giving another kiss for good measure. She rests her forehead against his as he curls his fingers into her hair.

"Give Rebekah my condolences," Amy says at last, opening her eyes and backing away from the Mustang. Jake gives her one last smile before pulling into the street.

"Don't have too much fun without me!" Jake yells through the window, speeding down the road. Amy watches his car until it makes a turn into the adjacent street.

She doesn't have too much fun, that's what she'll tell him, anyway.

Amy honestly spend the week blasting the Taylor Swift CDs she's acquired from Jake and ignores the neighbors' complaints as she deep-cleans her apartment. They can deal with a little noise, she figures.

That is until an official complaint comes in from her landlord, with a fifty dollar fine attached.

Jake doesn't find out until one of Amy's old lady neighbors, Mrs. Kenton, catches him on the stairs and tells him how glad she is to have him back.

"Amy wouldn't stop with her country racket, blasted the darn thing until my hearing aids fell out. I felt terrible, really, but the only way to stop her was send in a formal complaint."

Jake teases Amy for  _weeks_.

_Amy don't freak out-_

"If you start a conversation with that, I'm bound to freak out," Amy snorts into the receiver, bouncing her toddler niece, Emily, on one hip. Emily tries to reach for the phone, but Amy quickly uses her free hand to rest the phone on her other shoulder. Emily starts whimpering, preparing to start the fifth tantrum of that morning, and Amy silently reminds herself that she was the one who volunteered to take care of her brother's kids while they were out of town.

 _Right. So I've been kind, sort of, more or less_ _**lonely** _ _without you around-_

"Aw, you miss me?" Amy coos, opting to place Emily on the floor as her brother Tomás comes in with a model train to show his aunt. Amy nods appreciatively, pointing a finger to Emily and mouthing him an order to watch his sister. She escapes to the kitchen as Tomás drags the sibling in front of the TV. "You were saying?" she prompts, away from the ears of her brother's alarmingly attentive children.

_I may have… Bought something… Since you've been gone._

"Jake," Amy groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What did you buy?" She can already imagine it: a lifetime supply of Haagen-Dazs Rocky Road, or maybe one of those limited-edition (read: super-expensive)  _Die Hard_ Nakatomi Plaza Security T-shirts he's been begging for.

_Well you see, I needed something to keep me company while you were gone-_

"Oh my god," Amy pretends to sound scandalized. "Did you hire a prostitute?"

As if to answer for him, Amy hears a small bark in the background. She freezes, mind suddenly racing a mile a minute. There's another beat of silence before Amy speaks.

"Jake," she spits, barely keeping her anger in check. "Did you buy  _a_   _dog_?"

 _Maybe?_ He answers, though it comes out sounding like a question.  _Well no, yes, I did buy a dog._

"I'm  _allergic,_ " Amy seethes, gripping the countertop for support. She cannot believe this is her life: her boyfriend bought  _a dog._

 _I know!_  Jake replies quickly, and she hears him shuffling papers haphazardly in the background.  _I called your doctor, and got a list of hypoallergenic dogs you should be okay with. Plus your medical history shows you actually grew up with dogs when you were younger-_

Amy cuts in, wincing as she remembers all the stray her brothers used to collect, even when they were fully aware of their sister's allergy. She wasn't completely intolerant to furry pets, Mrs. Kenton had a hairless cat that Amy was perfectly fine with babysitting sometimes, but her brothers had the worst habit of finding the dirtiest, smelliest, and hairiest dogs in the neighborhood.

 _But Amy, you're going to_ _**love** _ _him. He's a Xoloitzcuintli-_

"How many times did you have to say that before you could pronounce it?" Amy wonders, laughing despite the situation. Maybe she was going into hysteria.

 _Too many,_ Jake answers honestly, glad to get her to lighten up.

"It's just a Mexican hairless dog," Amy corrects, impressing him. Even if her history with dogs had been terrible, it never stopped her from wanting one of her own. She vaguely remembers having a talk with her doctor a few years back, before she moved into a no-dogs-allowed apartment and then forgot all about her dream.

 _See, now you're warming up,_ Jake notices, and she can just imagine his smile. She does kind of wants this, to join him on one of his whims and raise a fucking  _dog;_ but his plan is just too good to be true, and it completely ignores the reality of the situation.

"Jake," Amy sighs, upset that she has to be the one to break the news to him. "We can't keep him-"

 _Oh c'mon, Amy,_ Jake whines.  _He's a miniature, and I already named him Alonzo._ Then, pretending to sound disappointed he says,  _He looks more like an Alonzo than a McClane, unfortunately._ Jake pauses, trying to think of better reasons, and Amy can just imagine him stroking the dog's head in thought. It's not a bad image to think about.  _And his last name is Santiago-Peralta. Don't even tell me that's_ _ **not**_ _cute._

Her heart skips a traitorous beat when she hears the combination of their names; that was something she imagined  _herself_ having one day, not some little dog.

"It is cute," Amy admits reluctantly. She's glad he's not actually here otherwise he'd  _totally_ make fun of the blush that has graced her cheeks. "But the landlord is going to  _kill us-_ "

 _Oh, I knew you'd be worried about that,_ Jake chuckles, sounding embarrassed and probably scratching the back of his head. She quietly hopes it's not the same hand he used to pet the dog, but odds are it is.  _Yeah, I took care of that._

"How?" Amy's eyes narrow, though he's not here to see her suspicious look. "What did you do?"

 _And now,_ he starts dramatically,  _for part two of 'My Girlfriend Leaves Me and I Consequently Become a Shopaholic.'_ Jake pauses, maybe for theatrics but more likely because he's nervous,  _I put down a deposit for a new apartment._

Amy stares dumbly at the countertop, trying to think of a response that won't involve a string of curse words or a detailed explanation of how she's going to murder him.

There are children in the next room, after all.

When nothing appropriate comes to her, Amy, the person who was infamously voted 'Most Appropriate' in high school, tells Jake (in an appropriately restrained tone) that they'll discuss this at home and promptly hangs up on him. She returns to the living room and lifts Emily to her lap.

Emily greedily snatches Amy's phone from her and starts playing the  _Little Einsteins_ game Amy had downloaded for her last night, when suddenly an iMessage comes in and Emily taps the little notification on the top out of curiosity.

"Doggy!" she squeals. Amy peers over her head and sure enough, there's a picture of Jake's and the Xoloitzcuintli's faces squished together to fit the screen. Jake is right, it does look more like an Alonzo than a McClane, and Amy begrudgingly admits that it's the dog of her hypoallergenic-dreams.

She saves the photo of their dopey-looking faces and sets it as her lock screen, then types out a text to Jake.

 _Alonzo's shit is going to be his daddy's job. Only._ The phone buzzes almost immediately after she sends the text.

_Deal. Mom's going to remember to feed and walk him, though._

She smiles, heat flooding her cheeks again because the idea of them being parents, even to something as funny looking as Alonzo, is enough to make her insides melt.

_Deal._

* * *

_Nicknames for each other?_

"Oh, Pineapples, what did you do?" Amy shakes her head, lifting a coffee-soaked file from his desk. Jake can barely prop his head up onto his palm due the sheer exhaustion he's suffering from. Of course, once he recognizes her voice and the overwhelming stench of coffee, Jake bolts upright, paper glued to his face, attached by the drool he's been spilling on it for the last hour or so.

"Shit," he curses, pulling the paper from his face and surveying the desk. While it's usually in some sort of organized mess, today's it resembles a Philippine garbage dump more than usual.

"Pull an all-nighter?" Amy asks sympathetically, dropping the file back onto his desk. Jake stifles a yawn and nods.

"Yep. Been working all night on this stupid Doug Judy case," he explains while stretching his arms over his head.

"Stole another Pontiac?" she guesses, peering conspicuously through Holt's office window. Once Amy confirms Holt isn't inside or near the bull pen, she steps between Jake's legs and takes his face into her hands. Jake blinks sleepily back up at her, not quite registering the intimacy of her actions or  _where_ she's conducting herself. "Where's Rosa?" she asks while wiping drool from the corners of his mouth with a stray napkin from the desk.

"Let her off early. Figured she didn't want to miss her 'booty call' or whatever," Jake shrugs, leaning back in his chair to survey the bull pen. Other than the two of them, it's empty. "Holt came in a while ago. Where's he?"

"He was going to get something from the files lockup when I came in. Guess he's not back yet," Amy answers, glancing nervously at the staircase. She should really get to her desk and start working. Jake senses her unease and smirks.

"More time for us then," he whispers, voicing dropping an octave as he settles his hands on her hips. She gives him an incredulous look, ready to walk away from him. But he's got this suggestive grin on his face that's sillier than it is sexy, so Amy figures one kiss in the office won't ruin her.

She's bent down to his level and her lips are  _just_ brushing his when Rosa suddenly kicks the bull pen open with one, solid boot, causing the couple to spring apart.

"Didn't miss anything good, did I?" she chuckles, ripping off her sunglasses and throwing a stack of files haphazardly onto her desk. Despite the distance, Jake still has a hand on Amy's waist, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed by Rosa. "Or maybe I interrupted something?" she wonders, trying to keep her smile in check. Amy blushes instantly under Rosa's discerning gaze and her very correct assumption. Jake coughs to break the silence in the room.

"Well," he begins, rising out of his seat, "I've got to find Charles's toothbrush and use it before he finds out, so I'll leave you two ladies to your deskwork." Jake means for it to be a clean exit, but he immediately trips on Amy's foot instead and lands on top of her. Amy steadies him, grabbing him by the arms and pushing him upright.

"You need coffee," she states, giving him a serious look. He nods, then realizes that it's harder to do standing up; his head feels disjointed from the rest of his body. "I'll make you coffee," Amy tells him, then gently pushes him towards Charles's desk. Jake doesn't mean to say it with Rosa there, but he's so used to Amy doing these favors for him in the morning that he can't help himself:

"Thanks babe."

He doesn't even realize his mistake until Rosa starts snickering and Amy blushes and quickly runs to the kitchen without responding.

"Babe?" Rosa repeats, still laughing in disbelief.

Jake shrugs, too tired to be ashamed, "She is a babe."

"Peralta, please refrain from using endearing terms in my precinct," Holt orders as he materializes into the bull pen, making even the ever-alert Rosa jump.

Jake gives him a boyish smile, "I'll do my best,  _dad_."

* * *

_Who is more likely to pay for dinner?_

"Santiago you sneaky bastard," Jake snarls from across the table, no appreciation in his voice as the waitress walks away from their table.

"What?" she smiles innocently, finishing her glass of wine as she hold the checkbook to her chest.

"You  _lied,_ " he hisses, leaning forward when a couple of nearby patrons give them weird looks. "You said you were going to the bathroom."

"I  _did_ go to the bathroom," she insists, tapping the corner of her mouth where a new layer of lipstick had definitely been re-applied only moments before.

"And you made a pit stop to the front desk and gave them your credit card!" Jake finishes, waving his arms around wildly.

Amy rolls her eyes, "You never let me pay. There are certain methods I just  _have_  to employ to make sure our money is being spent evenly."

"Including deception?" Jake demands.

"Yes," Amy replies honestly. She takes his hand, clenched tightly in a fist on the table, and shakes it loose. "Jake, your credit score needs to go up. You're in debt.  _Crushing_ debt. Let's just make a deal and let me pay for dinners until your score improves." She catches his protest before he can make it. "Please?" she implores, giving him her best pleading face. He sighs under her soft touch and pouty face, giving in.

"Fine," he mutters, slumping in his seat.

Amy smiles sweetly at him, scribbles her signature and calculates the tip, then returns the check when the waitress stop to bid them goodnight. Jake helps her put on her coat then leads her out of the restaurant by the waist.

"Just so you know, the minute my score improves I'm going to start paying for things again," Jake informs, not bothering to look her in the eye. He can feel the heat of her disapproving glare from the side anyway. "Like, super expensive things," he adds, just because he knows it'll piss her off.

"Dummy," she snorts, pressing herself closer to him to ward off the cold. "That'll tank your score again."

Jake chuckles, kissing the top of her head, "It'll be worth it."

* * *

_Who steals the covers at night?_

"Jake."

Tug.

"Jake."

Tug.

"Jake."

"Peralta," he teases, burying his nose in the sheets. Childish games always amuse him at ungodly hours of the night.

"N-Not funny," Amy shivers, tugging again. "I'm cold," she tells him, pulling harder on the blanket this time. Jake peaks out from his human burrito and has the decency to look guilty, immediately opening up the covers for her.

"Well then," he begins dramatically, "May I cordially invite you to be the cheese of my kosher taco?"

"That doesn't make sense," Amy answers as she rolls her eyes, though she has a feeling the action is lost to him in the dark room. "And I can't decide if you're trying to stereotype me or..."

"Not stereotyping," Jake responds quickly, tugging her into the mess of blankets. "Just being dumb," he promises as he wraps an arm around her waist.

Amy chuckles into his shoulder, "No surprise there." Jake pinchers her ass in retaliation, but otherwise the two settle comfortably against each other.

In the morning, however, the two fight to be free of the sweaty confines of blankets they find themselves in.

"We need those old lady night sweats bed sheets," Jake pants, wiping the sweat from his brow with his T-shirt. "You know, the ones women get for menopause." Amy raises him an incredulous brow; she knew about those, of course, but she certainly didn't expect him to.

"I think my mom has those types of sheets," she notes dryly, gathering her damp hair into a ponytail.

"Well find out where she gets them from, because we need them," Jake orders, completely undeterred.

Amy laughs and promises that she'll ask, then drags him into the bathroom for a morning shower.

* * *

_What would they get each other for gifts?_

"The fact that you're having a raging lady boner over  _office supplies_  really worries me, Santiago," Jake remarks as he watches Amy staple forty pages of paperwork together with a single staple. She then punches holes into the documents with her new one-hundred and forty paper-capable hole puncher, ogling at the clean circles it cuts into the papers. Amy files the report into one of Holt's binders (the ones that sit in rainbow order on his back shelf), and strokes her heavy duty stapler in appreciation.

"It's a beauty," she marvels, flipping it over to read the brand name. Her eyes widen slightly when she makes out the label. Amy looks up at him, concerned, "Jake, how much did this cost?"

"Bup, bup, bup," he quickly leans over to cover her lips with a single finger. "Don't even try to outdo me on this one." Amy looks ready to protest, so Jake hastily continues, "I forgot your birthday like a douche, so let me have this one victory, okay?" Her eyes soften as he says this, a gentle smile growing on her face.

"Thank you," she says sincerely. "I love it. Really." Jake flushes under her gaze, coughing to distract himself from her pretty face.

"R-Right," he stutters. "Happy Birthday, Santiago. Sorry I'm such an asshole and forgot."

"No worries," she smirks, "I'll let you have this one. But I'm totally out-gifting you for your birthday."

Jake snorts, "I'd like to see you try." But really,  _he would_ like to see her try, because she knows him, and she'd probably get him something totally awesome.

His birthday passes them by without any real celebration or gift. It ends up part of the blur that was his life undercover and all Jake can recall from that time was how homesick and tired he was.

When he returns to the precinct Amy and he fall into an awkward relationship: she pointedly avoids him and he dutifully respects her wishes not to speak to each other. He's trying to be nice, because she's not with Teddy anymore and maybe she's still sensitive from that, but it really fucking sucks when Amy's being so formal to him, not even smiling when he cracks a joke.

Jake's not even sure if Amy will acknowledge him or his confession properly at this point. In fact, he's become so accustomed to their stiff dynamic that he's surprised when Amy corners him in the evidence lockup.

"I found the files you were looking for," she says as she drops the stack of papers on the table he's working at. Jake removes his gloves, leafing through the papers to buy some time.

"Thanks," he finally answers when he gets to the last page. Jake gathers up the courage to look into her eyes and is disappointed to find her expression as neutral as ever.

Then she does something peculiar.

Slowly, Amy produces a small plastic bag from behind her desk. Flipping it over, she lets the item inside drop onto the desk. Jake's eyes widen when he realizes what it is.

"This is-"

" _Die Hard_  25th Anniversary Edition with never-before-seen backstage footage," Amy finishes, smiling more to herself than to him. This is the first time in months he's seen her eyes light up like that.

"Amy-" he starts, his heart threatening to burst right out of his chest.

"I missed your birthday," Amy explains, cutting him off. She can't quite handle the emotion in his eyes yet. Everything's too new and fragile between them, and she really doesn't want to screw it up.

"Thank you," he whispers, but he's looking at her, not the DVD. Jake's in her space, leaning forward enough that she can feel his breath on her face, and that stupidly sentimental look in his eyes is making her heart work overtime.

So she does something impulsive.

Clumsily, Amy pulls Jake by the arm so she can kiss his cheek. Her nose kind of ends up bumping his and then she's backing away faster than either of them can process what just happened. Amy recovers first, therefore she's able to thoroughly enjoy Jake's awestruck expression. It gives her the confidence boost she needs.

"Happy late birthday, Jake," she whispers, then hurries out of the lockup.

She didn't say it, but Jake caught the hopeful glint in her eye before she escaped.

_We're going to be okay._

* * *

_Who kissed who first?_

Amy Santiago hates going undercover.

It's her first week at the Nine-Nine, and of course she's forced to work with the resident five year-old.

"Excuse me, I'm  _six,_ " Jake stresses, popping the collar of his leather jacket. Amy rolls her eyes and continues to search through the club's storage room; there has to be evidence  _somewhere._ She's kind of annoyed that there's no offer to help from her partner's end, though she shouldn't find that surprising. One day into the job and Amy has summarized that her new partner is an egotistical, lazy, smart-mouthed  _asshole._

She should have stayed with the Eighty-Two.

But she didn't, so now she's here with a useless partner, searching for evidence of a drug network that may or may not have its headquarters in this club. They were lucky to locate most of their suspects in the club, now they just needed some evidence and maybe a confession or two and then Amy could close this case and go home and catch up on  _Law & Order: SVU._

She's just about to search another shelf when suddenly the door of the storage room slams open, and Jake swiftly grabs her to hide with him behind the shelf.

"We're so fucked," he groans under his breath. They hear footsteps descending down the stairs, and they look at each other worriedly. "We need a plan," he hisses, eyes darting around the room in search of an exit.

"We can't fight them off," Amy reasons in a hushed, tone, peering over the shelf and spotting four massive bodies.

"Then what?" Jake snaps. Amy looks around the room, searching for something to give them an advantage. Finding nothing, she looks back at Jake determinedly.

"I'm really sorry about this," she says.

Then she kisses him.

And they get totally into it. Like, Amy fists are in his hair and Jake's hands find her waist, and when she tugs on his locks he actually  _moans_.

They're ultimately kicked out of the club with a warning not to come back, but otherwise their suspects still think they're just a horny couple.

Amy shuffles down the street with Jake, purposely not looking him in the eye. She can feel his questioning gaze on her, but she's too upset over not procuring any evidence to answer him.

Finally, Jake stops in his tracks and waits patiently for Amy to pause and look at him.

When she does, Jake pulls out a plastic baggy from his pocket. He's almost proud of himself as he watches her expression light up.

"You found it!" she yells gleefully, pumping a fist in the air. Amy almost,  _almost,_  hugs him,but she manages to catch herself and holds out an outstretched hand instead. "Good work!" she tries to sound as encouraging as before, but her stiff posture ruins her good intentions. Yet Jake chuckles and takes her hand anyway, giving it one good shake before releasing it.

They both ignore the spark that ignited when they touched.

* * *

_Who made the first move?_

_I really wish something would happen, romantic stylez._

Amy holds her breath for as long as she can, until he's disappeared around the corner and she knows she won't see him for at least six months.

She exhales, then digs for the cigarette pack in her purse.

Inhaling her addiction, she forgets how to breathe.

Amy won't remember to exhale until Jake's back at her side.

Then she'll stomp on the ends of her cigarette, dig it into the dirt, and walk right up to Jake and ask:

_That's stylez with a 'z,' right?_

He laughs. She breathes him in.

_Of course it is. I mean it._

Exhale.

_I mean it too._

* * *

_Who remembers things?_

(Jake remembers things that Amy will categorize as 'unimportant.')

"Santiago, did you eat?"

"I'm working, Peralta. I'll eat when I finish this report."

Jake doesn't say anything when it's almost three hours later, instead he simply drops her favorite sandwich from the nearby deli onto her desk and let's her work. Amy's busy hands manage to find the food while her brain is still a hundred percent in the case. She eats mechanically, not even registering the fact that a sandwich just  _appeared_ on her desk.

(Amy will leave a thank you note on his desk in the morning. A little reminder that she's grateful for him. Jake deems these silly little post-it notes littering his desk as 'unimportant.')

(Yet he keeps every single thank you letter she's written for him, and her heart soars every time he remembers the little things she likes.)

(So in the end, they remember the important things after all.)

* * *

_Who started the relationship?_

Amy doesn't say much when Jake comes back from undercover work.

She congratulates him like everyone else and offers him praise and good wishes as he adjusts back to normal life.

Therefore, Jake doesn't even think twice when she calls him over to watch the first season  _Fargo_ that he missed while he was gone.

He's okay until Amy's head somehow ends up against his shoulder, and then he's really confused when the final episode ends and she's dozing off on top of him. Jake shakes her shoulders gently, excited but unsure of what was actually going on between them.

"Hey," he whispers. She peers up at him, barely visible in the flickering light of the television. Jake swallows, "Are we a thing now?" She smiles sleepily back up at him.

"Yep."

"Yes?"

"Yes, Jake." she confirms, rolling her eyes. Jake chuckles, then does his best impression of Gaear Grimsrud:

"You're a smooth smoothie, you know?"

* * *

_Who cusses more?_

" _¡Besa mi chulo, puta!"_

Jake cocks a brow at Amy, waiting for her to translate, but she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She shoves the criminal's head under the hood of their police car, then climbs into their driver seat. Jake shrugs and get into the passenger side. While they drive back the precinct, the crook in the back continues to yell at them. He's swearing, Jake can figure that much, but only Amy actually knows what he's saying.

" _Pendejo,_ " Amy finally mutters under her breath as she parks the car in the precinct lot.

"I'll drag him in," Jake offers, sensing her discomfort with the criminal in their backseat.

"Please," she encourages as she opens the car door. "He's all yours."

Jake opens the back door and leads the guy out and towards the precinct's entrance, and the whole way there the criminal hurls insults at Santiago.

"- _Pinche puta_ ," he finally finishes as they lead him inside.

At that particular moment Amy whirls on the criminal, eyes blazing with anger. If Jake wasn't so scared he might find it kind of hot.

" _¡Necesitas tomar su actitud y_ _métetelo por el culo!_ " she snarls, pointing an accusatory finger at the man.

" _¡Cállate la boca!_ " he shouts back as they enter the bull pen. Rosa gets up from her desk to help them out.

" _¡Jódete!_ " Amy spits back, shoving the guy a bit so he stumbles away from Jake and towards Rosa. The latter woman simply take him and leads him to the hold-up cell, grinning over her shoulder at Amy.

"You really have a potty mouth, don't you?" she chuckles.

"Seven. Brothers," Amy pants, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

Jake takes in her exasperated state and laughs, "I have no clue what you said babe, but it sounded really hot and dirty."

Amy smirks, " _No me jodas,_ Jake." Rosa laughs from down the hall.

"He already is!" she quips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last prompt was 'What would they do if the other one was hurt?' That's going to be the prompt for my next short fic/oneshot (don't know which it's going to be yet). Either way, my response to that prompt will be in a future fic. 
> 
> Also anything remotely cultural-related in this fic (food, language, etc.) was based off my personal experience (so basically whatever my Hispanic/Jewish friends have told me/what I've learned from 8 years of Spanish), so if anything's particularly inaccurate, I'm really sorry! Especially my translations, I'm sure I mess up at least one of those. 
> 
> And if you're wondering why Jake and Amy got a dog in this fic it's because I've always seen them as dog people and Amy being allergic is possibly the most canonically tragic things I've ever heard.
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading!


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